The Lion and the Halla
by cynicaldesire
Summary: Liandra Lavellan, Between Dalish Mage, neither Keeper nor valued member of the clan. She wasn't comfortable around much of anyone, least of all shemlens. But the Commander? He was disarming. He was comfortable.
1. Meet the Herald

Several days had passed since the unsanctioned establishment of the Inquisition. In that time, Cassandra Pentaghast had halted all activities to do with the Breach until her reinforcements arrived. The breach in the Veil had been stabilized, allowing for such a luxury. Due to her contributions, Liandra spent the freedom wandering the mountains in an attempt to escape the crowds. So many shemlens that begged for word from the Maker, or Andraste, or a miracle, or to seal the Breach and save them all.

The trees outside of Haven were dangerous to climb, too thin to support her weight with the snow. She had taken to scrabbling up boulders and perching on top of them instead, shrouded by the leaves. The warmth of the Free Marches provided for better trees, but she took comfort in being off the ground, shrouded by the leaves. Her staff made an impression in the snow beside her. The rock was cold, albeit welcome, while she pulled her coat tighter around her against the wind.

So much had happened since she left her clan to spy on the Conclave. She had just been under orders to observe, to gather information about the Divine, to bring word of the final verdict. She wished she could remember everything that happened, that brought the Breach to Thedas. A tightness filled her chest and closed her throat. All those mages and Templars, dead, while she remained. All those soldiers lost battling the demons while she slept, recovering from whatever magic sparked on her left hand. Whatever marked her hand, using her control over it to contain the evils of the Fade, to stop this madness, to help the shemlens and elvhen and the world, this would be her redemption.

Green magic scorched through her arm, life breathed into it at her very thought. But where had it come from? It felt ancient, older perhaps than even the Creators. Perhaps the shemlens were right, maybe she had been marked by the Maker. The Temple of Sacred Ashes had once held the Urn, a real object, that held the ashes that healed a nobleman from Ferelden. Disbelief in the Maker did not make the evidence of his existence any less real. The Creators were just as real, though the shemlens would never admit to it. The mark calmed as she pondered, allowing her a reprieve. She lifted her knees toward her scarred chin and wrapped her arms around them.

She looked up to the sky. The Gods and Goddesses of both races blessed her, perhaps. The pantheon needed a Herald and maybe she had been chosen. Whatever she had done to deserve it escaped her. A Between Dalish elf for several years before the Keeper permitted her a task. Liandra had proven her disposability, so if the worst should happen, she would not be terribly missed. Or missed at all. Her lips pressed together, dry from the cold. Whatever love she had for her clan faded as her hand sparked again, burned her veins to her shoulder.

"Seems dangerous to be this far from the village walls alone, serah."

She should've heard him coming. She scooped up her staff and spun around to the voice. She peered over the edge of the boulder, eyes wary.

He wore heavy armor with a large mane of fur around his shoulders. The helmet covered his face, but his accent belied a well-educated Ferelden. A Chantry shemlen, perhaps.

"I can take care of myself, shemlen." She kept her voice amiable. Chantry shems came in two varieties: Clerics or Templars. Neither option comforted her.

"All the same, I would escort you back to town, miss. If that's agreeable." His horse shifted his hooves in the snow, the rider shifted with it, unfazed. She furrowed her brow. A Templar then. What had Cassandra called them? Cavalry?

Much like the Hunters of her clan, Liandra grew to fear the Templars. Rarely had the shemlens visited their aravels, but their numbers seemed less after the shems left. They hunted mages from their tower, a world apart from Liandra's. Sometimes they would pass through after capturing their prey, their quarry in chains, sometimes hooded. The Hunters would make pointed remarks about the treatment of the shem mages, a threat to the clan's mages that their fate might be similar if they did not adhere to their order.

She stood fully and brushed snow off her backside. "I suppose I've been missing long enough, shemlen." Concession worked best with the Hunters. No need to start a fight with a well-meaning stranger. She moved to the edge of the rock, and judged the distance.

The feather in his helmet jerked back. "Miss, wait, no!"

Liandra ignored his protests and hopped toward the horse's flank. She summoned a gust of wind to guide her descent, startling the horse. The horse whinnied, stepping nervously around in the snow. The rider struggled with the reins, the flank jerking Liandra to and fro. A soft voice calmed the beast from the depths of the helmet, metal armor jangling as he stroked the creature's neck. Confusion settled over Liandra.

"Whoa there, boy, it's all right." He shushed the large brown beast, patting and stroking its neck. "Just a bit of magic, no harm done." The horse finally calmed, huffing loudly. The feather brushed against her face as the shemlen looked over his shoulder to her. "Are you all right?"

Liandra started. Not even most elves would ask that, given the situation. "Am I-... Yes, I'm fine." She looked down to the horse. He had not deserved her impetuous behavior. "I'm... sorry for startling him."

The rider nodded. "Thank you. It was foolish of you to do." He squeezed his thighs and the horse started moving, a slow canter toward Haven's front gate. "But at least you recognize it. Apologizing is a good start."

Her shoulders lifted. She felt undeserving of her vallaslin. He had treated her like a weak woman, a child to be protected, but that did not mean she had to act like one. And the horse, it had done nothing to offend her. The rock of the horse's canter felt more pronounced this far back on his body. She clutched at the back of the saddle, struggling to remain seated.

"Miss, you should hold onto me to keep you steady. The horse can tell you are uneasy." A smooth voice flowed over his shoulder, no malice or animosity even touched his words. Only worry and fatigue. He must've traveled from very far.

"I'm sorry, ser." Her hands found his sides and she tried to move them up, but found armor under his large coat. A well-armed Chantry shemlen. Definitely a Templar. "Are you here to join the Inquisition's forces?" She slid her hands around toward the front of his abdominal area. She fought the urge to burrow her face into the lump of fur at his back.

The feather bobbed. "I received word that my services would be welcome. What of you, serah?"

She blinked. News of the Herald had to have spread further out than just Haven. "I... have already joined."

A chuckle rumbled through both of them. The clang of swords reached her ears, initiates practicing at the camp outside the gate. "Not many elves would pledge themselves to a campaign lead by the Chantry. Do you mind if I ask what brought you here?"

She took a breath. He veiled his question in polite conversation, but she understood. Had she been forced to join as a slave of someone else? "My Keeper sent me. She thought it would the best thing for me." It wasn't a lie.

"So you're a Dalish mage, then?" His curiosity sounded piqued.

She pressed her lips together. The tents on the edge of Haven drew into view. "Yes." How much should she tell him?

"Do you know if the Dalish clans have chosen a side of the Mage-Templar War? Or if they have chosen a side at all." The feather in his helmet shifted from side to side. "I... am sure they would not side with the Templars, but what of the Mages?"

A question she had not fielded before. The intent of the Inquisition, formed unsanctioned by any authority, made the question moot. What would it matter?

Though, he had asked specifically after the Dalish. As if the Dalish had a singular authority figure to form an opinion. But her Keeper had said one thing about it. "As long as we are left out of it, you shemlens can kill yourselves however you see fit."

The horse wandered past the tents on the edge. She could feel the silence building, despite his easy demeanor. Initiates continued their sparring as heled the horse to the stable. Fire burned through her left arm, forcing her to clutch it against her body. Hopefully he had not noticed.

"Apologies, serah, it was not my intent to offend." The worry and fatigue did nothing to diminish the softness to his voice.

Again, the stark difference in her actions and his reactions forced her to come to terms with the way she acted. He only wished to engage in a friendly, academic dialogue, curious about her or the Dalish opinions on matters. And she reacted rudely. The mark sparked slightly, forcing a growl from her. She flexed her hand, her glove creaking in the cold.

He nudged her gently and she leaned back. He carefully swung his leg over the horse and dropped one foot on the ground. He turned around to stroke the horse's neck again. Warm and polite and worried had been all this stranger had been. He had done nothing to deserve her actions.

"I'm sorry if I gave that impression." She offered him an apologetic smile. He offered her a gloved hand. "I'm finding it hard to adjust to being here among so many shemlens." Her left hand reached for, realizing as he grasped it that the spark had dimmed already. She took his hand and slid carefully off the horse's flank.

She felt herself carried to the ground by his strong arms. Being on the horse, only seeing him from above, had done nothing to educate her to his size. She stood a head shorter, the width of his body blocking her view. She hadn't met any shemlens near his size. Or strength. Though, she realized, the Seeker had the strength.

The lion helmet nodded to her while his hands left her. Only her, then. He stretched his neck out to unstrap the helmet. The large decorative thing revealed a chiseled jaw peppered with dark stubble, a scar that stretched from his upper lip toward his right eye, and smile lines wrinkled at the corners of his eyes. Eyes of golden hazel under dark, hard eyebrows and golden brown hair. Eyes that had seen demons, touched by the Fade, dark circles pressing in underneath. But he smiled at her, and her hand stopped hurting. Her voice caught in her throat and she felt the demons preying on her.

"Thank you for allowing me to escort you, serah. I would never have forgiven myself if I left you alone out there." He stood back to hold a hand out to her, a proper, civilized greeting.

The shemlen before her destroyed all ideas she had of Templars, of soldiers, even that of other shemlens. Strength and courtesy, respect and warmth. She looked to his hand. "Yo-You're welcome." Her hand did not have far to go to find his. He grasped it and she felt a hesitation.

"Ah, Cullen, you made it." The Seeker approached from the training dummies to their left. "Thank you for coming."

His features shifted all at once, hard in the presence of the Lady Seeker. Duty before pleasantries. "I appreciate the offer, Seeker Pentaghast. I am grateful for this chance to make a difference."

The Seeker frowned at the formalities. "Cullen, please, there is no need for that. We should get you set up straight away." She looked to Liandra. "Ah, but I see you have already met the Herald of Andraste."

The shemlen started and looked back to the elf. "I-... The Herald...?" Liandra swore she saw a blush to his cheeks and couldn't help but smirk. "I suppose I have, yes." He bowed slightly at the waist.

The Seeker motioned to Liandra with her armor lined gloves. "Her name is Liandra from Clan Lavellan." The shemlen straightened up. "Liandra, this is Cullen, a former Templar. I thought he would be the best to serve as Commander of the Inquisition's forces. He has much experience fro-"

Liandra's ears stood up. "Commander of the forces?" She dropped all pretense. "You want this shemlen, a _Templar_ , to serve as Commander?" Cullen stiffened beside her. The mark sparked in her hand, forcing a growl unbidden from her throat. "How can you expect to trust him? Templars are part of the reason this whole war started in the first place!" She felt the demons again, led by her rage, by the Mark.

"Herald-" Both shemlens shouted at once. The Seeker quieted at other's hand.

"Herald, if I may." Liandra narrowed her eyes, tightening her grip on her staff. "All you have is my word, my oath, that I have no conflict of interest." He raised his free hand toward the Breach. "My only concern rests with closing the Breach and seeing Thedas protected." He tilted his head slightly. "Regardless of race or power, the Breach threatens us all. I would see it closed."

Liandra narrowed her eyes at the taller man. She heard no lie in his words, conviction instead lined his voice. A story rested there that he did not share, the demons behind his eyes stirring slightly at the memories he willed away.

The Seeker tilted her head, the tall shemlen awaited her judgment. While she had been consulted on to clear up a few disagreements, the idea that they desired her approval for one of the leaders of the Inquisition baffled her. She felt the weight of her decision impacting far more than the shemlen's ego. But, his kindness before and his words now swayed her.

She felt the demons leave her as she calmed. "Fine." She loosened her grip and stabbed her staff into the snow. "The Seeker seems to trust you, at any rate." She looked to the Lady Seeker. "And she found the will to trust me." The Seeker nodded. "Then I will trust you as well." She held out her hand to him again. "Welcome to the Inquisition, Commander."


	2. Affirm Your Dedication

Val Royeaux proved to be a waste of time. Liandra had hoped to garner improved relations with the shemlen Chantry, allowing for all manner of benefits according to the former Hands of the Divine, the Inquisition's new Commander, and Lady Josephine Montilyet. They Mothers feared what the Herald of Andraste would do to their followers, a blasphemer heading up a rebellion shrouded in faith. Liandra had no stake in their religion, only performing a duty she felt important to keeping Thedas safe. If visiting the Chantry to reassure them of her intention would silence their slanderous rhetoric, she welcomed the opportunity.

But before she could meet with any of the Chantry Mothers, Revered Mother Hevara declared the Inquisition heretics and Lord Seeker Lucius broke away from the Chantry, throwing the establishment further into chaos. And shaking Seeker Cassandra's faith in her order. For if the Lord Seeker did not have faith, how could she?

Their visit did not end in total loss, as Liandra recruited a few more to their cause. All willing to follow her specifically.

She felt the weight of their trust, their faith, in every decision. The Seeker craved a new purpose, believing that purpose to be the Herald of Andraste, the only survivor of the Conclave, touched by the Maker and the Divine. Defected Templars and apostates pledged their allegiance to the Herald and the Inquisition. The weight of the Breach, of the world, rested on her.

Snow crunched underfoot as she climbed another boulder. She stole a moment to escape, a moment away from the minstrel's songs, from the believers, from her advisors demanding her attentions. Liandra spent a great deal of time alone, isolated from her clan by virtue or by force. The environment at Haven, pilgrims and pledges, advisors and those she began to call the Inner Circle, it wore on her. She had to steal her moments to herself here, a few hours shrouded by the branch that hung low over boulders.

The leaves over this particular boulder did little to drown out the sound of so many new initiates training, sword clanging against shield or another sword. Shouts of rage, grunts of exertions, the Commander's voice peppered in with corrections. She could hardly think, but if she ventured further, panic might set in.

She hopped down off the boulder, a bit of wind to guide her down into the snow. The cacophony echoed off the frozen lake. Brittle wood thunked hollowly under soft footfalls as she made her way to the end of the dock that extended over the ice. The forces had not stretched this far into the valley providing her an escape, however noisy, but she remained close enough to hear the Seeker call.

Liandra dangled her legs over the edge of the dock and rested her staff flat along the structure. Her feet swung absently over the ice. Her eyes lifted to the Breach.

The green scar that tore the Veil. She watched streams of magic stretch all over Thedas and knew Fade Rifts opened at the other end. Fade Rifts that she would have to close. Only she had the power to do so, but she wanted to now. In the beginning, she performed the duty out of obligation, but witnessing the impact her actions had on Thedas, her obligation turned to righteous duty.

Children of her clan were reared on the idea that anyone not Dalish posed a threat. Even alienage elves. Dwarves and humans posed a minimal threat, farmers bartering for Lavellan goods had provided a few good crops. Dwarves offered weapons, but the Lavellan craftsman could do better. The tower mages attempted to use the Lavellan clan as a shield, bringing danger in the form of Templars. The most dangerous threat, humans adorned in shining armor and blind faith. The Lavellan clan held a faith in the Creators and the Keeper, though Liandra always believed it founded. She realized the truth now, that her clan behaved like those Chantry humans, rigid and sterile in their service to an ideal.

But not all humans shambled into the Light like a moth to a flame. Some humans strove to adapt to change, to fight their destiny and make the world their own. Some humans followed their own light, their own path. The leaders of the Inquisition, those that volunteered, all worked to save the races of Thedas. The racial diversity of the Inner Circle had little impact on the devotion of the initiates. And her being an elf had little impact on the leaders of the Inquisition. The Ambassador, Montilyet, had even gone out of her way to learn an Elvish phrase.

 _Lies_. The Keeper hissed in the back of her mind, a chill at the back of her neck. _Lies to gain your trust so they can put you down. They will tear that Mark out of your hand and use it to save themselves. They don't need you, and they will discard you the first chance they get._

Not one of the Council betrayed that inclination. The Commander, though a shemlen and a Templar, did only what he thought benefitted their cause. Sister Leliana as well. Despite her immense distrust of Varrric, the Lady Seeker accepted his expertise. She approved of Solas's assistance in nursing her back to health and stabilizing the Mark. Accommodations were made for Halla and Bronto in the stables.

Her lips pressed into a hard line, her brow furrowed. The Keeper's words hissed through the back of her mind, that chill fading down her spine. She wanted to believe her clan pessimistic, but she still heard the occasional slur muttered as she walked by. Knife-ear, hedge mage, apostate, robes, rabbit, heretic. She had heard them all. The prejudices existed, though few and far between, fading as their opinions changed. Her throat tightened. The Dalish would never be that accommodating.

"I thought I saw you out here."

His voice sent a shiver down her spine. His boots thudded gently along the dock as his horse huffed behind him. She lowered her gaze toward the camp, Cassandra's figure lingering by the rocks that stretched over the lake. She waved to Liandra. Liandra heard the Commander wave back, his armor rattling, leathers creaking.

"I suppose the Herald's work is never done." She raised a foot to the dock, ready to stand.

"There is still time, Herald. To be honest, I had been hoping for a moment's respite myself." He moved up beside her and she watched him sink down to sit on the edge of the dock with her. Her brow furrowed. "No harm in relaxing a bit between missions."

Her eyes followed his descent as he sat down beside her. She fought the urge to tear away. He had been nothing but kind to her, offered soft words and excuses to get away, however safely protected by him or his men. She wrapped her arms around her raised knee, the other foot swinging over the frozen lake.

Her thoughts had been everything but relaxing. "Thank you, Commander... Everything has been moving so fast... I haven't had a lot of time to piece it together." Her throat closed.

"It is regrettable, but the Breach will not wait for you." She heard him lean forward, heard his voice come closer. It sent another shiver down her spine, tingles that extended into her mind. "But if there's anything we can do- Perhaps you would like to visit your clan?"

She jerked away from him at the suggestion, startling him. "No!" His brow furrowed, curious. Her reaction had been too strong, however honest. "Ah, no. It's not..." She mushed her lips together. "Just maybe allow me this? Time to relax?"

She watched the hazel fracture, but he nodded to her, lips pressed together. "Of course, Herald. I shall leave you be."

His knee lifted and she watched him stand. The demons caught her scent, her throat tightening. Her eyes lifted to the Breach, the sound of weapons clanging together. Everything seemed to get louder as he moved further away. "No." A demon must've taken control of her tongue.

His footsteps halted, the gentle rattle of his armor signaling his turn. "Pardon?"

She felt the heat rise on her ears. She raised a hand, waving him back down. "You can stay, if you like. I should... get to know you better. All of you. If we are to work together."

She heard his armor rattle, the leathers creak, and glanced in his direction. He shifted to lean against the last surviving post at the end of the dock. "I should be happy to oblige, Herald. What would you like to know?"

Liandra took a deep breath. Butterflies flitted around in her stomach. "I don't know where to start..." The sound of swords and shouts rose to her ears. "How about the state of your troops?"

She heard a soft chuckle beside her. "Fair place to start as any." She saw him motion toward the camp. "The Inquisition has received a fair number of recruits ever since you stabilized the Breach. Locals from Haven, pilgrims intending to worship at the Temple, others still that were on their way to the Conclave. Many of them have joined our ranks, though few are up to the standards I would like to see them. As I understand, Cassandra has demanded both Solas and Varric assist in training every few days."

Mirth bubbled from Liandra's throat. "And they allowed that?"

He smiled down to her. Gooseflesh rose along her right side. "As I understand it, Solas enjoys imparting knowledge, while Varric simply enjoys the audience. I've often heard the recruits telling stories rather than practicing their form."

His confidence settled the fluttering wings in her gut. She had not experienced a natural conversation in decades. "What about you? You said Cassandra recruited you?" Most exchanges between her clansmen resulted in hostilities and arguments.

"Oh, yes. Cassandra and Leliana were the Right and Left Hands of the Divine, as you know. Leliana recruited Josephine to fill in where she could not. Cassandra recruited me out of Kirkwall."

Liandra stiffened. "Kirkwall?" She knew of Kirkwall. "Varric's from Kirkwall. He told me he knows the mage that blew up the Chantry. That started the War."

Cullen sighed heavily. "Yes... I had a few run-ins with the mage myself. Though I can't say I knew the man with any degree of familiarity. Cassandra arrived to investigate that incident while I struggled to maintain some semblance of order. It was not easy, but I managed. I guess she saw some kind of potential in me because she offered me a position with the Inquisition shortly before she left to bring Varric to the Conclave. She offered a solution to the war, one better than Meredith had ever even considered." He paused, and she watched his brow furrow, eyes darken. "Her offer gave me a choice." The wind rustled his hair. She felt demons swirling around him beyond the Veil. "I had seen the worst of what Templars could do to mages, I saw what the order had become, but... It was still difficult."

She had considered leaving her clan on a number of occasions. She had not chosen her life, forced into a prison of eyes and arrows that she longed to escape. She may have belonged once, before her power manifested, but afterwards? She became an outcast. The Commander had chosen his life, even enjoyed it. Didn't he? "Leaving the Templars?"

He nodded. "But I left them to come here. I could see where the Templars were headed and I had hoped I could do something from within, but... I knew I could do more here, outside of them. So I left the Order to join her cause." He looked down to her. "I have not yet felt regret for my actions. And I pray I never do."

The timeline made little sense to her. Something about it confused her. "Did you join her to fight the Breach?"

He chuckled. "No. At the time, she had orders from the Divine to begin the Inquisition, something that answered only to her to end the conflict between the Templars and Mages. The Divine believed that corruption had taken the Templars too far in their treatment of the Mages. Leliana tells me that the Divine believed in challenging the way Mages were viewed, to remind the world that mages are still the Maker's children." He stiffened slightly. "But you do not believe in the Maker. Apologies-"

Warmth touched her chest. "It's fine, Commander. I am accustomed to the verbiage by now. Though unsanctioned, the Inquisition is still a religious institution. Many of the shemlens here believe in the Maker or the Maker's Will. The Temple of Sacred Ashes rests in a crater a few meters in that direction." She gestured to the Breach.

He laughed. "I suppose you are right, Herald." His mirth faded quickly, his eyes focused on the Breach. "That crater represents a beginning to something much worse than a war."

Her hand sparked, fingers tingling, as if invoked by his thoughts. "I just hope that I can control this mark well enough to help."

He tilted his head down to her. "You worry?" As if the idea that the Herald ever faltered had never occurred to him.

She looked away from his hazel eyes. They bore into her, trying to find the truth. "I... The Breach isn't just a danger to shemlens or the Chantry. The streams of magic stretch over the horizon, and I can feel the Veil tearing. I don't know where they are, but I know what they produce. Wherever they are, people of all races are in danger."

He arched a brow. "All races?"

An accusation. "The Breach endangers the world, regardless of what I have been taught to feel about other races."

He seemed satisfied with her answer. "Which is why the Inquisition is _needed_. The Chantry lost control of Mages and Templars before, but this new threat requires their utmost attention. And rather than turn that attention to the Breach, to aiding refugees and survivors, they argue over a new Divine." She could hear the petulance rising, a boy angry at his siblings for leaving their chores with him. "But, the Inquisition can act where the Chantry fails. And our followers are a part of that." He looked down to her, one hand gripping his pommel, the other gesticulating. "There's so much the Inquisition can do, so much that _you_ could accomplish while the Chantry trips over their robes." He closed his free hand and stiffened. "Ah. Forgive me, I doubt you were looking for a lecture."

She giggled, a rumble in her throat she had not felt for some time. "Your passion is welcome, Commander, and your candor is refreshing. If you have more prepared, I'd love to hear it."

The scarred edge of his lips rose as a chuckle escaped him. A warmth spread through her. "Another time perhaps."

The smile she felt grace her lips, a blush on her cheeks and ears, she worried her vallaslin might drip off her face. He had returned the smile, but the golden hazel of his eyes fractured with cracks and he stuttered a bit. He tore his gaze away first, his eyes shifting to the Breach.

A whistle startled them both. Cassandra waved from her side of the lake. Liandra frowned. "I suppose you're right, Commander." She released her knee and placed her hands on the dock. He moved closer and extended a hand. She accepted his assistance, pulling herself up in front of him. She felt so small beside him. "Thank you..."

He shrugged and motioned to his horse. "I should thank you, Herald. Listening to my worries when you have so many of your own."

Liandra blinked. She had all but forgotten her worries as he spoke. "I... This helped, Commander. Knowing how you feel about the Inquisition, how committed you are. And the troops."

He smiled and helped her onto the front of the horse. He grabbed hold of the saddle and pulled himself up behind her. "I'm glad I could be of service, Herald." His breath tickled the tip of her ear. She thanked the Creators that he could not see her face.


	3. I'm Okay with Spitfire

"You're going to have to make a decision at some point, Herald." Leliana frowned delicately. Liandra felt the frustration swelling around her.

The Commander shook his head. "I still believe that the Templars would be the best defense against this Breach."

Josephine's quill flourished. "Both the Templars and the Mages have reached out to us, but I fear that choosing one will alienate the other. Truly this is a predicament."

Liandra's shoulders raised, her hands tightening on her staff. Her fingers tingled, a green glow illuminated the map on the table in front of her. Again, they requested her input on something that she had minimal knowledge of. Her presence at this meeting seemed unreasonable. Her purpose in the Inquisition lie with the mark that burned through her left arm. Her duty with her use as a tool to close the rifts and the Breach.

Perhaps someone more suited to the task. "What do you think, Cassandra?"

The Nevarran Seeker shook her head. "I agree with the Commander; the Breach must be contained and the Templars are the best force with which to do so." Her brow furrowed, jaw set. "And the Lord Seeker has much to answer for."

Leliana narrowed her eyes, arms stiffening behind her. "The Breach will be sealed by the Herald's mark, which will need more power to overcome the tear in the sky."

The Commander sighed across the table. Liandra watched his shoulders sag, his hands find the pommel of his sword. "From what Solas has told us, the time for indecision is past, Herald." He shifted his weight to his other leg. "I am afraid we cannot wait much longer."

Liandra looked to the other three woman gathered. Her breakfast churned in her gut as their eyes bore into her. The fate of the world rested on her, and she felt it. They would not make a move without her. Her staff scratched along the floor, her head dropped. A bit of hair fell in front of her eyes, freed from the tight braids that encircled her head.

The core of this chaos formed around magic. It fueled the tear in the sky, threatened the fabric of reality. Fear of it forced the hands of those that wield it to drastic measures. Relying on magic to repair the Breach would only bring more ruin. If Templars could control that magic, stifle it in some way, that made the most sense. She pressed her lips together.

She lifted her head to scrutiny. She looked around the table, but only the Commander that held a question in his eyes. They left this decision to her. "Josephine, send our regards to Therinfal Redoubt and the nobles that will accompany the Inquisition and ask them to prepare for our arrival. And Commander?" He lifted his chin. "I sincerely hope that your contact can keep himself safe."

He nodded. "Thank you, Herald."

Leliana shook her head. "I still believe that the mages will be our best hope."

Josephine smiled to the redhead. "But this is an opportunity! Perhaps we can assist in brokering a peace between the Templars and Mages." Her eyes shifted to her clipboard. "Though it will take a great deal of negotiating to do so." Her silk shoes padded quietly over the stone floor. "Without a Divine, whatever we do will be decried as heretical by whatever is left of the Chantry. An secular, independent community may be their best option." The door opened. "I will make the necessary arrangements, Herald."

Cassandra nodded. "And I, too. Varric and Solas will want time to prepare."

Leliana bowed slightly and headed out of the War Room. Liandra took a cleansing breath, trying to calm the tightness in her throat.

"Herald?" The Commander lingered across the table.

Her eyes lifted to him and she blinked. "Yes, Commander?"

He offered her a gentle smile. "You look like you could use another break."

He could see through her. It unnerved her. "Thanks, Commander, but I should probably stop by the Blacksmith, check on my staff." She pulled the object in front of her, grasping it with both hands. A lifeline to keep her grounded, to remind her that the demons couldn't get to her.

He extended a hand toward the door. "I could accompany you. I'll be headed that direction anyway."

Her previous need to evade him disappeared entirely. No reason to object presented itself. Her left hand tingled. "Sure. Of course."

A soft smile brightened his features and he moved around the table. Liandra watched him, this shemlen, open the door. He baffled her. She should hate everything about him, he should hate her, but he proved her stereotypes wrong at every turn. She nodded a thanks as she moved through the door. A shemlen that cared nothing for racial differences.

She looked to the door of Haven's Chantry and strode forward, careful to hold her staff close. The Commander fell into step beside her. Not behind her, as a Hunter might, to watch her, arrow nocked, ready to dispatch her, making her uneasy. He had the opposite effect. She felt safe, protected, even welcome with him.

Whispers from beyond the Veil kept her up at night. They had visited all her life, but after the Conclave, they grew in number and volume. At first, she requested Solas's assistance with teas or meditation. She had never needed either before, able to quiet the whispers naturally. But even those methods stopped working after a few days. Her meditation became a review of the day, to which she reviewed the things that required her attention, to questions about Varric's stories or Solas's academics.

Those things could not help her in her dreams, where the whispers took shape and overpowered her. Cassandra took her place as her shield, a protector that offered a rare smile. But even the Lady Seeker found herself on the ground every so often. She woke in a panic in the middle of the night on several occasions.

Only the Commander had been the most effective at keeping the demons at bay. His ghost offered a shield, a comforting hand on her shoulder, a keen intellect to help her solve their riddles. She had better sleep the nights she summoned him.

She spared a glance in his direction as they reached the door to the Chantry. Their silence held no animosity, no awkwardness. She did not feel obliged to fill it. He pressed a hand to the door and as the door to the Chantry opened, shouts filled her ears. The Commander held his arm out to stop her, protect her. A group of former Templars stood to the left, a wad of robed Mages to the right.

An armored man stepped forward from the left, rage boiling around him. "Your kind killed the Most Holy!" The accusation flung, it did nothing to quench the fire surrounding him.

An older mage, balding, with a ring of white hair around his temples used his staff to step forward. "Lies." His aura felt colder, calmer, factual. "It was _your kind_ that let her die."

The Templar growled, his right hand swinging across his chest. Liandra heard the Commander's armor rattle but missed him move to grab the man's elbow. "Enough!" Whatever warmth he held in the War Room disappeared.

"Knight-Captain!" The Templar backed away from the larger Commander.

Liandra narrowed her eyes. The Templar's aura did not calm. Her staff hummed in her hand.

The Commander looked to the man, those scars behind his eyes lighting up again. His head lowered with his voice. "That is not my title." She saw the pain roiling around him, the demons vying for control beyond the Veil. He raised a pointed finger to the Templar, a scolding. "We are _not_ Templars any longer." He turned to the Mages. "We are all part of the Inquisition."

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

Liandra's long ears flattened against her braids. Chancellor Roderick emerged from the center of the crowd. Her left arm burned. "Now what would the Chancellor know about this?" The Commander's head turned slightly.

The Commander shook his head. "Back already, Chancellor?" He shifted his posture. "Haven't you done enough?"

The Chancellor raised a hand, turning to address those gathered as he spoke. "I'm curious, _Commander_ -" Liandra bristled, "as to how your Inquisition and its 'Herald'," the Chancellor motioned to her specifically, "plan to restore the order you promise."

Chancellor Roderick had antagonized the Leliana and Cassandra before Liandra had woken to her status. He denied the Inquisition, firmly rooted in the Chantry's hierarchy. They would need a new Divine before they could act. But his flock abandoned him, joined the Inquisition and its Herald. She had heard it all before in her clan. They preferred non-magical means, herbalism, potions, medicine, anything real and founded. They did not want her help and so she ran. She allowed them their prejudices, powerless to change them.

The Commander took a step forward. He always had power. The Chancellor did not scare him. "Of course you are." He raised his hands, waving the gathered mob apart. "Back to your duties." A few of the hecklers on the fringes moved away. "Now!" With one command, the shouts quieted down and the mob departed.

Liandra gripped her staff and took a step forward, moving to the Commander's side. She had power now. The Commander acted as her power against the demons in the Fade. He would act as her power against the demons in reality as well.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at the cleric. "Mages and Templars were already at war without _someone_ nurturing that hate into blaming each other for the Divine's death."

The Chancellor seemed nonplussed at the Commander's harsh tone. He held his hands at his waist. "Which is why we require a **proper** authority to guide the people back to Order."

Liandra tamped the earth with her staff. She could fight now. "Is that authority meant to be you, Chancellor?"

The Commander's back straightened, strengthened by her presence, her support. "Random clerics who weren't important enough to attend to Conclave?"

The Chancellor's aura flared, eyes narrowing. "And you would have me believe that the Rebel Inquisition and this," he motioned to Liandra without addressing her, "'Herald of Andraste' is better suited to the task?" He shook his head, hands collecting at the small of his back. "You will never convince me of that, Commander."

Liandra took another step forward. The Chancellor finally turned his gaze on her, head shifting back at her advance. "The **proper authority** has failed to act thus far, Chancellor. If it were left up to you and the Chantry, the Breach would still be pouring out Demons while you throw more soldiers at them. How many are you willing to sacrifice to feed your own ego, Chancellor?" She took another step forward, forcing the cleric back to step back. "How many lives must it take for the Chantry to lift their robes and take action?"

The Commander's hand found her left shoulder and she froze. Her staff moved between herself and the Chancellor. She gripped it tightly, pouring magic into it rather than the Chancellor. Her left arm cooled, the Mark calm.

The Commander's voice rumbled through her. "The Inquisition desires only to close the Breach, Chancellor. While the Chantry works to choose a new Divine, we will serve to protect the people of Thedas." He moved beside her. "I'm sure that Liandra will agree that she has no desire to seek the seat of the Divine. Nor has she ever confirmed the whispers that she is the Herald of Andraste. She has only ever done her part to close the rifts that threaten the people."

Liandra strained to keep her eyes on the Chancellor while his eyes returned to the Commander. No one outside the Inner Circle had called her by her name, but to hear the Commander say it heated her vallaslin.

The Chancellor stifled a snarl. "You say that now, Commander, but we shall see if that sentiment remains true."

Nothing she could say would change the shemlen's mind. Liandra pressed her lips together. "Tell me again why we let him remain here in Haven, Commander?" She had no reason to run. She belonged to the Inquisition. She would make him run instead.

Beside her, the Commander crossed his arms again. Her left arm burned gently. "He's toothless, Herald. No point in turning him away and making him a martyr simply because he runs off at the mouth."

Liandra's grip relaxed, her staff shifted back to her side. She had no reason to fear this Chantry shem. "Too bad. I wouldn't mind escorting him to the Crossroads and leaving him to the mercy of any Mages and Templars that wander through. The war is not over for them, after all." She feigned a thoughtful expression. "A shame I worked so hard to close all the rifts in the Hinterlands."

The Commander's hand found her shoulder again. Her left arm cooled again. "Too true. The events at the Conclave have definitely renewed the violence, with interest. I doubt the Chancellor would relish being in the middle of the Mage-Templar war. Neither side has much love for the Chantry, and with his robes, he'd be an easy target."

Liandra smirked slightly. She hadn't had this much fun in ages. She felt empowered by the Commander's understanding, repelling a threat through mutual banter. "And with neither side knowing who it was that caused the explosion, Mages and Templars both blame the Chantry for calling them together in the first place. Maybe the Chantry was in on the whole thing. A ruse to end the conflict through obliteration."

The Chancellor's chest puffed out. "This whole matter should be left to a new Divine to sort out. A proper investigation will establish who is innocent."

The Commander stuck a finger out toward the Chancellor. "Or will be happy to use _someone_ as a scapegoat. And I will not allow that to happen, not to the Herald."

Liandra looked to the Commander. He defended her willingly.

The Chancellor's hands raised over his hood. "You think nobody cares about the truth? The world grieves for Justinia's loss."

"But you won't grieve for the Herald when she is swept off to some prison in Val Royeaux. While the rifts continue to spread demons among Thedas and more lives are lost. Just as long as a new Divine warms the Holy Throne and declares Mages or Templars or the Inquisition to blame." His eyes narrowed and he took a step into the Chancellor's space. "I suggest you return to your tent, Chancellor."

The older man puffed out his cheeks again. A disgusted growl escaped him, but he backed away. Liandra watched the Commander's mane of fur rise and fall with deep breaths, felt the demons swirling around him. His calm aura had flared at the Chancellor's threats to her specifically, an emotion he struggled to control.

She moved toward him, unbidden. She sought to comfort him as he did for her. His touch did so much. Perhaps she might do the same for him. His shoulder seemed a world away, causing her to aim for his elbow. The touch caused him to jolt, those hazel eyes fractured with scars turning on her. The hard line of his brow relaxed slightly, his eyes closed.

He took another breath and shook his head. "Sorry about that, Herald." He motioned to the other path that lead past the tavern, away from the Chancellor's path. "I had received word he was returning from Val Royeaux, but I did not realize he would go so far as to incite a riot."

His aura calmed, the demons dissipating. She accepted his new direction, though she tamped the earth angrily as she walked. She longed to hear the story behind those scars. "As much as I trust you and the others, sometimes I wonder if my growing trust of you shemlens is misplaced."

He sighed quietly, exhausted. "He is a vocal minority, Herald. As I said, he has no real power or authority to affect what we do. There are far more voices, however quiet, that place their faith in you. They know what the Inquisition does is right, whatever's left of the Chantry be forsaken." He did not voice his objection to the elvhen slur.

His voice had softened again. A different man walked beside her. She glanced up to him, her ears twitching. "Thank you for defending me, by the way."

His throat cleared. A blush crept to his cheeks. "It's no... Not a problem. He shouldn't be attacking you that way. You've done nothing to deserve it." A light laugh escaped him. "Though I must say I am glad that it was not me on the receiving end of your ire. I pray that I never am."

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "I... have had my fair share of arguments with my clan members, over much the same thing. It's hard to contain forever."

"Just saw the Chancellor storm off, Spitfire. You and Curly finally put him in his place?" Varric's low rumble called to them from his bonfire.

Liandra started, surprised by the sudden inclusion of the dwarf. She nodded to him. He would be asking about her scuffle while they traveled. "The Commander and I were a bit too much for him to handle, Varric."

The Commander's hand found his pommel, the other gesturing to Liandra. "Though I admit I probably wasn't needed. The Herald has lived up to your nickname, Varric. She more than handled him on her own."

Varric's eyes shifted between the two of them. Liandra swore she saw the cogs turning under his ponytail. "Good on ya, Spitfire. Come tell me about it later?"

Liandra smiled. At least the Hunters helped in in some aspects. "I wouldn't miss it, Varric." They shared a wave, a promise, and returned to their separate tasks.

Liandra and the Commander made their way down the stairs by Varric. The interruption derailed their conversation. Liandra could scarcely recall what she had said. Instead, she remembered something else. "I couldn't help but notice how upset you were that that shemlen called you Knight-Captain."

His expression darkened abruptly, the scars fractured behind his eyes again. For a moment she worried he would keep it to himself. "It was my position in Kirkwall when... everything happened." Her brow furrowed to him. "The Qunari uprising, the Chantry explosion, the Mage rebellion." His descent slowed. "I was awarded the position for my service in the Circle tower in Ferelden."

She hesitated to allow him to catch. She hadn't heard anything about Ferelden. Just stories of the Warden, of the thwarted Blight, and how it smelled of wet dog. She longed to know more. "What happened?"

He stopped at the top of the stairs that led to Haven's gate. "I was there when it was overrun by abominations."

She looked back to him. She merely felt demons beyond the Veil, but knew that they used the bodies of mages to manifest on this side of the Veil. No mage had ever survived, horribly disfigured by the unbending of reality that the demons required. Circles held any number of mages, and if they all succumbed to demons, she couldn't even imagine the horrors.

"How many-"

His eyes focused somewhere else. He set his jaw briefly. "I don't like talking about it."

Or perhaps not. "I understand, Commander. My apologies for dredging up old memories."

He shook his head. "No harm done, Herald." His humor did not return. He closed the distance between them and pushed the gate doors open.

Though, he had not actually explained his disgust. "Why would you not enjoy the… position? If you survived-"

"Survive isn't the word I would use, Herald." He spoke with finality, a command to drop the discussion.

Liandra flinched. She recognized that tone from the Hunters. But the Commander was no Hunter. He suffered from an affliction, a past trauma she could do not fix, because he would not let her. She wanted to try, to understand what would make this man suffer, and to help in the healing process.

She had to know. Curiosity gnawed at her as they moved through the gate. "Why did you stay with the Templars afterwards, then?"

A weary smile played in his eyes, on his lips. "I believed it to be a calling once, one that I had faith in." He motioned to the path that passed the initiate's tents. She furrowed her brow. "You wish to know, do you not?"

She beamed at him despite herself. She might have answers after all. "If you are willing, Commander." She started down the path and attempted to slide her staff into the frog at her back. The Commander moved behind her and assisted in securing both ends to her back. "Thank you. I haven't quite gotten used to this thing yet."

He chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It was my pleasure, Herald." One of the initiate's fell beside them, unbalanced by a poorly executed dodge. The Commander's demeanor changed immediately.

He took a step forward and yanked the initiate to her feet. He motioned to her sparring partner. "Come here, both of you." He retrieved the woman's shield. She slipped her arm into it. "Here, hold it like this." He adjusted her grip and the position of her arm. "Keep your shield up and let him hit it. If you keep dodging, you could end up on the wrong end of a blade, a spell, or debris."

She flexed her arm, eyes on the shield. "Like this, Commander?"

He nodded. "Good. Move it into the way of his strike, hide behind it, deflect to open him up." He gestured to them.

Liandra watched as the pair descended into offensive stances. The Commander took a step back and nodded. The initiate's circled each other, each attempting a strike but swinging wide. The Commander frowned, but remained still. He practically buzzed with frustration.

A few more swings brought the sword down on the shield, the initiate deflected it and followed with an attack of her own. Her partner flinched, his own shield wide, allowing her plenty of opening. She stopped her blow right before his neck and tapped her weapon against his helmet.

The Commander smiled. "Good, good. Don't be afraid to hit each other. That's what the armor is for. Keep practicing." He turned his attentions to her, the determination in his gaze softening. "Apologies, Herald."

She shrugged. Dedication, conviction, knowledge. Cassandra chose well with the Commander. "Why apologize? You impress me, Commander."

He froze, mouth open as if to protest. A blush crept onto his cheeks and he cleared his throat. "Thank you, Herald. Would you like to continue?"

She looked over his training field. Several pairs practiced, swords and shields clanging, words shouted or muttered between veterans and initiates. "If you would prefer to watch over your charges, that is fine."

Something resembling disappointment drifted over his features. The scars lit behind his eyes, the creaking of leather drifted from his hands.

Liandra lifted her brow. He desired conversation just as much as she. "I do believe that you were telling me why you stayed with the Templars?"

The disappointment faded immediately, replaced by a smile. He turned to the path. "I suppose it has everything to do with why I joined. My village was home to a small Chantry, not normally large enough to house a few Templars, but we had a mage researcher living there. The Templars there seemed noble, a worthy cause for a small boy to join. It was something I could believe in, something real and physical that made a difference."

Liandra sensed he held something back again. They rounded a boulder and headed for an abandoned dwelling. "I thought all shemlens believed in the Maker?"

His eyes fell, hands finding his pommel. He hesitated. "Most do, yes. I believe in the Maker. And Andraste." He shook his head slightly. "But the Templars made a difference in the world, in those around me. The Revered Mothers gave us prayers to recite but they did little. I remember begging the Templars to teach me. 'Let me pick up a blade and shield and show me how to do what you do,' I said."

He leaned toward her with a smile. "At first I believe they were just humoring me. A small village with little problems was probably a very boring post for them. They were only there to watch the researcher and he mostly kept to himself. They had no reason not to. Might as well train the lad." His eyes returned to the dwelling in the distance.

Liandra kicked at a rock on the path. "How old were you?"

He tilted his head and paused, eyes turning skyward. Liandra smiled at the gesture. "I suppose it was around my eighth year. At least, that was when I told my siblings my plan to join the Templars." His eyes burned again, scorched by unwanted memories. "It took several more years for a visiting Knight-Captain to take notice and offer me a chance at formal training."

Dedication and purpose at such a young age. Shemlens had to choose at such a young age, limited in their years, unlike her people. Vallaslins did not come for several years, though she found herself burdened with limited choices once she discovered her magical talent. Her parents were none too pleased. They had all but disowned her, only responsible for keeping her fed and taken care of, leaving her with the other mage children most of the day. Liandra spent a great deal of her childhood with other Touched children of similar parentage.

They lingered just outside the abandoned building, both lost in memories. A burning shot up her left arm, a growl emitting from her throat. In the sky, the Breach ripped open another rift somewhere across Thedas.

The Commander jingled slightly as his head whipped in her direction. "Herald?"

She chuckled. This magic in her hand ruined her comfortable, miserable life, what stopped it from ruining her hectic and pleasant one? "I'm fine, Commander. Thank you."

His brow furrowed, his free hand stretched toward her left arm. Concern etched into his features as she took her gloved hand, watching the green magic spark through the glove. "This mark, does it do this often?"

The burning cooled and sparks faded a bit as he looked her hand over. Liandra stiffened at the contact. Physical contact still surprised her. "Occasionally. It's fine, Commander."

His furrow deepened, eyes darting between her face and her hand. "I suppose you are used to magic." His lips pressed together for a moment. "How long have you been a- Well, how long have you known about your… abilities?"

She sensed the burden of a story again, the presence of demons, though if they were drawn to the mark or him she couldn't tell. Warmth crackled in her chest as she realized she had no real experience in the telling of her story. So few had asked her about her life before the Conclave, only interested in what happened after, most of which she could not recall. The Commander asked her so many questions, so interested in her and her past and her views on the world.

He gripped her fingers, the furrow of his brow pulling the rest of his brow down. "You have my apologies, Herald. I am acutely aware of how damaging those types of memo-"

Heat pressed against her cheeks, her ears twitching. "Commander, it's fine. I… I just don't know if I've ever told anyone before."

Confusion and disbelief knit his brow upward. "No one?" She shook her head, eyes wide as saucers. "As I said, if it is-"

Her right hand lifted to wave his worries away. "No, Commander, you misunderstand – No one has ever asked."

She watched an array of emotions warp his features, eyes darting between her, Haven, and the ground. He eventually settled on amused disbelief. "I would be more than happy to hear all you have to say, Herald."


End file.
